Michelangelo's Monkey
by Marauder-In-Disguise
Summary: There's nothing quite like a gun for kickstarting the conversation...Finale spoilers, rating for one use of strong language


**A/N – Something that I started when I saw the finale and have only just finished. Friendship only, but I guess if you squint you can find pre-slash if that's your cup of java. **

**Disclaimer – TG would be signed on for a million years already if I owned it…**

A gun.

A damn gun pulled on him so close that he'd seen nothing but the barrel pointing at him for the fraction of a second that it took for Morgan to react and bring the girl down, the only word in his mind not a remotely useful one.

_Fuck._

Despite an almost indecent amount of tactical training stored in his mind, firstly from the marines and then the FBI, all he had been able to do when it came down to the wire was reach futilely for the gun at his belt and wait for the bang that would signal the end of his life. David Rossi had looked down the barrels of guns before, held by people who were arguably far more unstable than this young woman, but never had he been so convinced that he was actually going to die. Not once. He knew that if she had been given any longer, she would have put a bullet between his eyes. And whilst his mind was now rejoicing in the fact that he was still living, some nerve had neglected to do its job and inform his heart that the danger had passed; it was still pounding, painfully, ten minutes later. He was grateful that all of the heart problems suffered by elders of the Rossi family had yet to knock at his door; he suspected that had they been an issue, he would have had a heart attack.

"Are you alright?" Ashley had gasped, rushing over and grasping his arm, her eyes wide as she took in the young woman laid at their feet and the gun that Hotch was handing off to a member of the SWAT team.

"I'm fine," he said, shaking his arm free, aware only of the pounding blood in his ears. He must have spoken more harshly than he meant to, because she pulled away with a slightly hurt expression and hung back as Morgan reached out to shake his hand.

"Had to outdo me, huh?" Dave asked, his voice thankfully tremor free, "Couldn't owe me for even half an hour."

"I'm just glad you're OK, man," Derek shrugged, "And thank you. For before."

"Right back at you," Dave nodded, the two men sharing a momentary look of understanding before Morgan turned to speak briefly with the EMT who had been about to check him over. Ashley gazed reproachfully at Dave for a moment longer.

"I'm glad too," she whispered, before turning and joining Morgan on the ground nearby, watching in fascination as he explained the scar on his shoulder to an enthralled EMT. Dave turned to speak to Aaron but found that the younger man had already disappeared into the chaos, once he was sure that Dave was uninjured. It was a big crime scene and there was plenty to do, after all. With his heart still beating painfully, Dave pulled the keys to the SUV from his pocket and chose the passenger seat, not trusting his trembling hands to drive them safely once they got on the road.

And now, ten minutes later, he was watching absently as Seaver gently but firmly wrestled the keys to the second SUV from Morgan's grip. He was shaking his head and protesting but she had already clambered into the driver's seat and was looking at him pointedly, patting her own arms and shoulders. Eventually he gave in and slipped into the passenger side, the scowl on his face becoming unconvincing as he grasped his shoulder and winced. Seaver laughed and started the engine, and then turned her head to find that Dave was watching them. She raised her hand in a mock salute, her expression unreadable as she pulled away slowly, weaving through the mess of police cars and ambulances. He sighed, knowing that he owed her an apology. She was a smart kid and he knew that she understood but she still hadn't asked to be snapped at. It's not like it was her fault.

Aaron chose that moment to pull open the back door of the SUV and dump his vest on the back seat, next to the one that Dave had already thrown there. He climbed in and took the keys that Dave was silently offering him. Neither of them spoke until they were on the road to Quantico.

"Are you alright?" Aaron asked, his eyes staying determinedly on the road.

"I'm fine," Dave said, the response sounding too quick even in his mind. He inwardly winced and waited for Aaron to pick up on it. He didn't disappoint.

"Dave, you're allowed to be shaken up you know. You did just have a gun in your face. If Morgan -"

"I know what would have happened, Aaron," he said, fighting to keep his voice non-confrontational, "I happen to have been to crime scenes as well you know. I've seen the worst case scenario."

"I know. I'm sorry."

They drove in silence for a while, the atmosphere so strange that Dave suspected the half hour drive back to Quantico would feel a lot longer. He was keenly aware of the sorts of signals that he must be giving off, but those coming from Aaron were confusing to say the least. He'd expected some anger – directed both towards him, for letting his guard down, and the girl – and buckets of relief, but what was there instead was virtually unreadable. He risked a glance at Aaron's face and found the typical stony expression that meant the younger man was thinking about things that he didn't particularly want to think about. Unfortunately, Aaron took this glance to be a signal that Dave wanted to talk again.

"You shouldn't have snapped at Seaver," he said conversationally, "She was only worried about you."

"I know. I'll apologise to her when we get back. She just caught me off guard."

"I understand. You've never been backed into a corner like that before."

It wasn't a question but Dave nodded his affirmation anyway. It was something that had occasionally come to mind during his years in the FBI; that for someone who had a high risk job, he'd been incredibly lucky. He'd never been injured in the line of duty, never needed medical attention for even a scratch. It had become something of a joke in the weeks leading up to his first retirement, his colleagues convinced that he was going to pull off what only cops in bad movies could, and be shot on the day of retirement. But that hadn't happened either and neither had anything occurred in the three years that he had been back. Reid had commented on it once, when Dave had gone to visit him in his hospital room after his knee operation.

"_I get anthrax and shot in the leg within three months and you just stand there. If I believed in guardian angels, I'd think there was one watching you."_

They'd laughed off Reid's attempts at good humour, made as they were in the wake of Foyet's attack on Aaron, but the words had stuck with Dave. Unlike Reid, he was a believer – in God and His angels alike – and so he often wondered what he had done to ensure their protection. It wasn't even as though he was particularly dedicated in his religion; his prayers to God came at entirely selfish times, the last memorable one being in the hospital room as the doctors worked on Emily, and the time before that as they were listening to George Foyet torture Aaron over the phone. He'd wondered since then, privately of course, whether the fact that he was so selective with his faith was half the reason that Hayley died and that they couldn't save Emily. That a God who had some reason to keep an eye on him and keep him safe had to find other ways to punish him for his neglect.

That was not a comforting thought.

Dave sighed and gazed down at his hands, which he had unconsciously joined together in his lap. It was only then that he realised Aaron had started talking again.

"I can't believe we missed the signs when we took her out of the car."

"We missed them because we wanted to, Aaron. We spend too much time trying to dig out the evil that people are hiding; none of us want to believe that the victims of all people could be hiding something too."

"You're right," Aaron bit his lip, "But still. We could have lost you today."

Aaron forced out his last sentence as though it pained him, which it might well have done for all Dave knew. Aaron was good with words, had perfect lawyer's poise, when he had to do anything but articulate what he was feeling. It was like watching the painting of the Sistine Chapel, and then giving a chimpanzee a potato print and expecting the same results. Not for the first time, Dave cursed Aaron's father and the iron vice that he had provided for his son's tongue.

"I'm still here, Aaron. The heart had a bit of a shock but it's nothing I can't handle."

"That's not the point," Aaron gripped the steering wheel, his jaw set as the words danced behind his eyes, "You're the one I never worry about, Dave. I know you'll come back, no matter what. But today…it was like someone knew that I take you for granted and wanted to remind me that no one is indispensible."

"Aaron," Dave sighed, an ironic smile playing over his lips, "I am in no doubt that if anything were to happen to me, you'd do just fine. You and the team."

Casting a sidelong glance at the younger man, Dave noticed a gentle blush spreading up his neck from his collar, and onto his pale cheeks. It seemed that one never got too old for a few well-chosen words from a trusted mentor and friend.

"But this isn't about me, Dave. You're the one who could have died."

"And if I had, it wouldn't be me that was having trouble sleeping. It's the ones who get left behind that have to feel their way through. After everything that's happened in the last year, you know that better than most."

It was a low blow to bring up Hayley and Emily, he knew, but Aaron was being difficult and all Dave wanted, more than anything, was to get home and have a very large brandy before collapsing into bed for at least nine hours of uninterrupted sleep. Aaron evidently agreed with the cheapness of the shot; his silence was actually almost worse than the arguing. Well, never let it be said that David Rossi didn't know when he was in the wrong.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"No, you're right. The ones left behind do have to pick up the pieces. And I know what's bothering me."

"What's that?"

There was that intake of breath again. Sharp, as though the air was full of shards of ice.

"I've never told you how important you are to me. Not just as a team mate, but as a friend. My best friend, actually. You're always there and you always know what I need. I honestly thought that you were going to die before I got the chance to tell you."

David Rossi was rarely with nothing to say, but Aaron's admission managed to knock him for six. The younger man was watching him anxiously from the corner of his eye, and he knew he should say something but he didn't know what. Aaron Hotchner was the most reserved person he knew and the things that touched him touched him deeply, tucked away safely where very few people were allowed to see them. To be not only subject to such a revelation but to be part of it, was perhaps one of the most rewarding things that had ever happened to Dave.

Eventually he answered.

"Thank you."

And he was secretly grateful when Aaron chose to ignore the distinct tremor in his voice, and just smile instead.


End file.
